


Years, Continents, The Usual: A Heather Button Story

by Querulousgawks



Category: Veronica Mars (TV), Veronica Mars - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, F/M, Friendship, New York City, Post-Series Pre-Movie, Romance, Tumblr Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 18:12:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2160204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Querulousgawks/pseuds/Querulousgawks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>MachaSWicket's beautiful Just-In-Case Letters: http://archiveofourown.org/works/2022321 made me wonder about Heather Button as a teenager, and I posted some ficlets to Tumblr about her caught up in a New York City mystery. This is the collection, with an epilogue. <br/>Alternate canon set after the end of Season 3, before the movie. Seventeen-year-old Heather Button gets her first credit card, her first trip to New York, her first romance. It's a disaster.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"I’m not calling him," Heather said, but it came out unconvincing, shaky. She tightened her grip on the phone.

“Come  _on,_ ” Anna whined. “Who else is gonna get us out of this? Unless you know some other rich influential guy in the army, and you’ve been holding out on me.

“Navy,” Heather corrected automatically. “You know, boats? Middle of nowhere, could die anytime? I’m not bothering him with this.”  _I could have, when he was just staring at the ceiling of the Neptune Grande all day. Couldn’t he have saved getting a life for after I survived high school?_

“He broke you out when Melissa grounded you _,_  but a dead guy in uniform isn’t worth it?” 

“He’s not dead! He’s breathing, ok? And I should never have told you about that.” A lot of shit she should never have done, and responding to party-queen Anna’s astonishing overture of friendship was suddenly seeming like the top of the list.

Then again, taking her dad’s  _sorry about the 6-year knock-down drag-out divorce_ credit card and heading to New York with her was giving it strong competition. And now they were trapped, broke, and looking guilty as hell, in a city she never wanted see again. They needed a problem-solver, and that’s what Logan had turned into, for her. But this – they had to figure out someone else.  

Someone else who solved problems. Who might care about hers, or be persuaded to.

Someone who lived in New York City.

Who she’d kind of wanted to look up, anyway.

…Logan was going to  _kill_ her _._

Feeling, despite that fact, happier than she had all evening, Heather scrolled through her contacts. Anna had given up trying to convince her and stood staring at the bod- the  _man,_ the man who was still breathing, as she tapped the fingers of one hand against a thrust-out hip.  _She’s so pretty._ Heather pushed down the tangle of jealousy and longing and shifted her attention to the phone. You couldn’t think about things like that when you were about to talk to Dick Casablancas.

“Yeah, I know what time it is in Neptune. Whatever, like you sleep normal hours. Put the brownie down, old man, I need a phone number.” Anna had turned when she started talking, giving her a glance half-baffled and half-amused. Heather rolled her eyes in apology.  

“Yes, I’m aware of the internet - it won’t be listed. No, it’ll be in Logan’s contact list. I know he left you one. It’s an emergency, Dick.”

She took a deep breath, pulled the phone away from her ear in preparation. “I need the number for Veronica Mars.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dick Casablancas is entertaining, and the plot fails to advance.

Heather had bought her first cell phone and plan with her own money, when the hit band Pulling off Lying to Parents (may they never drop off the charts) had just gotten together.  All her budget could handle was a used brick loaded with landline holdovers, and the best one of these was the loud click and tinny, digital dial tone that would play whenever someone ended a call. She had found this hilariously overkill at the time – wasn’t the fact that they’d  _stopped talking_ enough of a clue? – but had grown strangely dependent on it in the three years before her surprise win in the annual Echolls-Button Christmas-to-New Year’s Donkey Kong tournament earned her the sweet normalcy of a smart phone.

Which is why it took her a couple of long seconds to realize that Dick Casablancas had just cold hung up on her.

That, and maybe because she was still a little drunk. She slowly lowered the phone and blinked at the End Call screen. Even Dick wouldn’t just abandon them, right? Did he hate Melissa so much, despite their outward ease and what she would swear were still occasional hookups, that he would leave her little sister scared in New York? Or did Veronica’s name just drop him like a fainting goat? She’d never really gotten any of the history, there, beyond exaggerated eyerolls and mentions of ball-crushing that Logan would quickly direct the conversation around.

“Did you lose the call?” Anna asked, sounding at once more checked out and more nervous. Heather wondered how many shots she had had, in the fuzzy period before this place had emptied out and they found themselves alone with this bod- _guy_. Totally alive, breathing, rolled over so he would keep breathing guy.

In uniform, with a shit-ton of scary looking medals across his chest.

“Maybe,” Heather said, “but I don’t…” and then it buzzed again, thank God, before she had to think of anything else. Dick, requesting to video-chat.  _Why-_ she weighed her better judgment against their total lack of options, and hit accept.

“Hey, little Butt-ski! Good to see ya, I’ve never done this before. You don’t need Veronica. Just show me the body.”

“What? Dick – first, don’t call me that. Second, there is no body, it’s just a guy, he is _breathing,_ and finally, what the fuck” Dick’s stupid happy grin dropped just a notch when she said that, which made her furious even through her rising panic, so she repeated, “the  _fuck_ can you do to help? Just get the number!”

His face had smoothed out before she’d even stopped talking, like he knew he’d tripped her just-a-kid rage, and where did his read on people even come from? She shook her head, trying to clear it, as Anna leaned too-close over her shoulder and Dick raised his hands on the screen.

“No, c’mon, Buttskewicz, hear me out!” Anna snorted and Heather threw her a glare that actually made her back up a step –at least it still worked on  _somebody._  Dick was carrying on just fine: “This isn’t Ronnie’s kind of problem at all, honest. You only THINK you need her because our flyboy brainwashed your young tender brain to think she can fix anything. And sure,” he made an expansive gesture with, she  _knew_ it _,_ the brownie in his left hand, “lose your dog or your husband or your balls like Logan did? You call Veronica Mars. But. You go out partying and wake up drunk in the middle of stranger danger? That, Button baby,” his face shrank as he leaned away from the screen and jerked his thumbs backwards, grin widening, “is when you call Dick fuckin’ Casablancas.”

Heather stared at the phone, half disappointed and half…impressed? Anna shifted beside her, “You know,” she said (with less confidence than Heather had heard yet – maybe the glare was too much) “once you filter out the Californian, I think that actually kind of made sense.”

“ _Fine_.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I deal with the plot problem by skipping it: Heather looks back on their long day in New York City.

Really, Heather was grateful for a lot of things.

That nobody had died. That Dick had recognized the breakaway snaps on the costume (“I got Logan that  _exact_ stripper outfit last Christmas! But he went all Army/Navy OCD on me like a little bi…jerk.”) That the guy, Daniel, had woken up at all, much less that he had remembered the name of the bachelorette party who’d hired him with promises of a check at the end of the night, and sort-of remembered the face of the woman who’d handed him the last drink. That Anna had seen the flyer for Legal Aid when the cops had laughed them out of the station, and had convinced her and Daniel to give it a shot. That the fire of her indignation had carried them past the reception desk and into the main lobby, where Heather had spotted, with her own flare of nervous determination, a tired-looking, drab-suited woman that she nevertheless immediately recognized.

That slowly, through the uneasy period as they crowded around and unfolded their story, some angry spark had burned away the flat professional blankness in Veronica’s eyes.

“Oh, yeah.” She had said, and then shook her head warningly at Heather’s little jump of excitement.  “I don’t know how much help I’ll be. Whatever you’ve heard from Lo –people back in Neptune…I don’t really do that, anymore.” Her eyes flicked to Daniel, whose hands still shook a little when he unfolded them from the Styrofoam coffee cup, and she leaned forward to give Heather a new, sharp, predatory smile. “But this one? I think I can make an exception.” 

By the time justice had been meted out, Heather and Anna had seen the smile enough to start answering it with their own versions, slowly growing in cockiness and ferocity. They’d gotten a tour of New York nothing like the cheesy trolley ride of their first day, as Veronica had led them around the city bullying bartenders and wedding planners alike.  Daniel had stayed at the same nervous, embarrassed pitch of befuddlement until they tracked down the hard-faced bridesmaid and she had reluctantly written him a check.  _With_ a late fee, and a surcharge for the “accident.”

“I hope this settles the matter,” she had bitten out, and Veronica had just raised her eyebrows and led them all away. When he finally had the check in his hand, he’d slumped down against the outer wall of the woman’s brownstone and started to cry. Anna and Heather had instantly crouched on either side of him (“ _Dan_ , there might be  _needles,_ ”Anna had said as she scooted carefully to wrap an arm around him, and he had let out a tired laugh that vibrated into Heather’s shoulder.) Veronica had regarded them all with a softness she hadn’t shown for the whole chase, then stepped out to hail a cab that would drop Dan at his apartment, and take them back to hers.  

So yeah, Heather was lucky. She knew it, and she tried to think appropriately grateful thoughts at the universe through the next twelve hours of making dinner at Veronica’s, meeting her aging pit bull, and telling her as many Logan stories as she could gracefully slide into a conversation, considering Anna had heard them already. Veronica met these, mostly, with a neutral expression that cracked for a few honest grins; Heather would call it a win. She even stayed grateful, while returning the neutral expression, when Veronica glanced thoughtfully between her and Anna, then offered both the cot and the pull-out couch to sleep on. She couldn’t do anything about the blush, especially when she noticed that Anna was pink, too. Minor excruciating embarrassments were nothing when you looked at the big picture of their stay.

She was keeping it in perspective.

Until she woke up sticky and still exhausted at noon the next day, and remembered she had a Skype date with Logan in half an hour.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heather explains all to Logan, and then gets out of the way.

Logan and Heather’s weekly video games turned into monthly video chats when he was deployed; it was just chance that landed their next one on this particular Friday. It wasn’t chance, but clearly a sign that the universe was done being kind to her, that he always called Dick first. So he would have heard…something, probably all the most humiliating somethings, about the whole story. But, Heather comforted herself as she hitched upwards on the pulled-out couch, not the most important thing.

“You’re sure this is ok?” She asked again, guiltily, as she reached for the laptop. She had tumbled out of the sheets to find Anna and Veronica disgustingly dressed and conscious, perched on the apartment’s only two chairs with Kenny the pit bull at their feet. Veronica had listened to her urgent half-asleep explanation, then offered up her computer with a casual laugh and only a flicker of panic in her eyes.

“Contacting the chief responsible adult in your life – however weird I find the identity of that person to be- is always going to be okay by me.” Veronica had the long, multipart sentence rhythms of her dad and his lawyer friends ( _associates,_ he would always correct her), but her voice was warm, teasing. Heather liked the combination. Even with the edge that crept in as Veronica handed over the Mac, saying, “However. Spilling coffee on Amalthea, here, will get you prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.”

Heather slid her mug onto a coaster on the side table, and then reached out again. The name stirred some memory - a book, a cartoon? - that fell into place as soon as she looked at the screen. “You named your laptop after the last unicorn?”

“Hey, she’s a magical creature. I’ll just be, uh, over here,” Veronica grabbed a magazine and gestured to the alcove that held her bed. “I don’t want to intrude.” She curled up to read, but Heather noticed her eyes drifting repeatedly towards the back of the laptop. Grinning, she opened the Skype window to her Chief Responsible Adult, arms folded and a perfect, familiar look of exasperation and affection on his face.  

“So you’re ok?

“We’re fine, Logan. Daniel turned out to be a good guy.” She smirked a little, “He just didn’t have those quality role models teaching him to always watch his drink.”

 Logan rolled his eyes, and said, “quality role model  _is_  how I’m most commonly identified, these days. Listen, I never thought I’d say this, but I think Dick feels bad about laughing so hard at your, uh predicament. He wants to fly you guys back. Unless you bought tickets with the Guilt-Trip Visa, already?”

Skype was the scourge of the modern world. She tried to keep her face blank, but she could  _feel_ the expression fleet by, half guilt and half satisfaction. He caught it, of course, and snorted. “You maxed it out.”

“It’s not  _maxed out._ ” He gave her what she thought of as the you’re-in-the-army-now look, and she admitted, “there’s…just not enough left on it for two tickets.”

“Well, look for an email soon, Dick promised first class,” He hesitated, then said, “and email your dad, okay? Two one-way tickets on the statement with no return could really give the guy the wrong impression.”

Not to mention the deposit at the health clinic. Daniel had shifted uneasily when they’d been directed to billing, and she’d suddenly seen the gauntness in what she’d at first thought were just attractively James Marsters-esque cheekbones. She liked the idea of her dad’s money actually helping someone, especially a guy he would never consider worth it. Not that it would ever come up, anyway. She felt that traitorous twist in her chest, the one she’d been pushing away for the whole trip, as she said, “C’mon. You  _know_ he’ll never check the statement.”

His jaw tightened even as his eyes went sad, so she knew the twist had shown up in her voice.  _Weak, Button._ But he wouldn’t be her favorite grownup if he settled for comforting lies. “Probably not,” he agreed. “On the other hand…it’s always one of the times you don’t cover for, that they surprise you.”

He would know. As usual, his frankness about it made the ache ease up, but she still rolled her eyes before caving. “I’ll call him, okay?”

“Okay.” His expression turned innocently inquiring, and her heart sank. “So! This girl. Think she deserves first class?”

Of course. She’d tried to keep the story as dry as possible, and she didn’t think she had ever hesitated over Anna’s name, but if anyone was going to pick up on her feelings, it would be Logan. Heather always figured that, eventually, there’d be something she’d be too embarrassed to admit to him; apparently, “Anna Denver grabbed my hand when she was scared and I almost passed out from some weird protective lust rush” was going to be it. Even though -she glanced across the room, thought of Russian mobsters and radio requests - he would probably understand.

She shook her head at the screen, unable to control the smile spreading across her face, “Maybe.” For once, she had a guaranteed way to distract him. “Listen, we didn’t…tell Dick the last part of the story.” Logan raised his eyebrows. “We ran into someone,” and she saw his eyes widen just before she looked up at Veronica, who had dropped the magazine and was staring at her, instead. He knew. “Veronica?” The two sharp breaths were identical, on the screen and in the room. She would have laughed, if she hadn’t been so nervous. “I think you guys should talk.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sappiest possible epilogue, in which Heather stops worrying about other people's love lives for a second.

She practically skipped down the endless stairs to the apartment’s entrance, savoring the image of Veronica and Logan staring at each other as she jumped every couple of steps. Whatever happened next, there was at least one story where she had gotten to flip to the last page, and scratch out “The End.”

Heather Button hated those words.

“ _Hey,”_  she said to Anna, stretched out on the stoop and scratching Kenny’s ears. “There might be needles, you know.”

Anna grinned up at her and reached out a hand. “Save me from them?”

“Save your _self_!” But Heather was still on a high from the scene she’d just walked away from, and she pulled Anna up so hard they both stumbled back against the outside gate.

Well, she fell against the gate. Anna fell against her, and stayed there, smiling differently now, one hand still in hers and the other holding the iron spike nearest her waist.  _She’s so pretty._ For a second, Heather felt the old tangle of fear in her ribcage, but then Anna leaned forward and their lips met and the fear was unraveling, dissolving, sending something bright and exciting through her veins.

(After a couple of minutes, Kenny gave a huff of old-dog indignation and lay down again. Apparently, the walk was postponed.)


End file.
